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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29935758">But My Aching Soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22'>QueenOfNewOrleans22</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bon Jovi (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Fluff, Insecurity, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:54:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>371</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29935758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The things were innocuous. Jon hated how bothered he was, but couldn't help but glance at himself in each mirror, pull at his face and mess with his hair and grimace at the growing signs of age.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>But My Aching Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon knew that it was stupid. He knew that he was being ridiculous, silly, that he shouldn't be thinking about these sorts of things, but he couldn't help himself, couldn't help the terrible thoughts that invaded his mind uncontrollably. They were occasional when he'd been younger, blonde and young, the creepings of darkness as he applied eyeliner or buttoned up his shirt. </p><p>Back then, Jon had brushed aside those thoughts as if they were nothing but annoying flies. And they were, back then, anyways. He didn't pay attention to them, and then he did. Jon stressed about the big things and the little things, about a broken string and a torn shirt. He got greys quick, and he spent hours frowning at himself in the mirror, pulling at the bags under his eyes, hating every inch of himself that wasn't smooth, even hating the mole on the back of his hand and the small scar on his stomach. </p><p>The things were innocuous. Jon hated how bothered he was, but couldn't help but glance at himself in each mirror, pull at his face and mess with his hair and grimace at the growing signs of age. Even in his thirties, Jon pulled at the crow's feet and the frowning lines, disappointed and angry at himself. </p><p>"What's wrong?" Richie seemed to know, despite his question, but just rested his chin on Jon's shoulder and waited for an answer. "I want a chance to stare at your face, baby." He said with a mischievous little smirk. </p><p>"I have wrinkles." Jon replied. "Look, see?" He pushed his face up, and then groaned in frustration. </p><p>Richie grabbed Jon's hands within his own and turned the younger man around, smiling at the disgruntled look on Jon's face. "Hey, we all age." Richie said with that familiar cheerful tone. "You still look fucking amazing. Hell, the most beautiful man I've ever seen." Richie always had that look of sincerity in his eyes, the look of total adoration. "I swear to God, would I lie to you?" He raised his eyebrows in question. </p><p>"I guess not." Jon mumbled. </p><p>"Now, c'mon. Lemme show you how beautiful you really are." Richie said, and, this time, Jon couldn't help but smile back. </p>
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